Gall, of fortune but not of froth/
Wrath to be had in the river of time but not
Where it sits, naturally, decadently.
There is no awl or owl or whatthefuck in this river.
Swim a-shyly and dawn on the crest of the rabbit hole that you
Were a weed in the sunset drippings of my towellette
Don’t forget we met at the Sundance Festival.
Now, I know how it is to be a playful thing
No one wants to go where the natural sets in stead of the synthetic
Too drawn-out and loathsome to be meaningful
Tacks litter the landscape
Drool drips to the floor
Trying something new here, after some poetic advice from a friend.
Here we go:
The dove makes love to a
is in your mind,
is in your mind.
Frozen in time, I
the dust of
With to-ta-li-ta-ri-an gi-bber-ish,
But no one wants to limit their
With a frank
When the dust does
When the leaves
What was the advice my friend gave me? PAY ATTENTION TO RHYTHM AND RHYME! Also I just intend to beef up my editing of poems from now on instead of slapping them onto the blog or my family or wherever instantaneously.
Let me know if this piece works, and what could be better about it.
A loose horse
The tidal waves
I am immersed in Other
The vindictum is oft chopped at the fore
And to be honest… sometimes at the aft
We all have honest hobbies
There’s no one to hunt
I’m not on the market
But for computational work
I hung up
Last drink of the night?
Yeah, then I’m heading home
Well drive safe
The apocalypse makes some drivers crazy
If anyone ever wants to collaborate on poetry or short stories just hit me up. I love collabs.
Beauregard come save me
I am in the monk’s order
I want to be one of the monks
I wish to have steely reserve nerves and
A punch like a brick
Come save me, monks
I won’t look down on you
Whether you like it or not
I won’t be at your side
Please start music before proceeding to read poem for full experience:
I don’t know if putting this here will maximize the value
I’m all for optimization
But do I have any other choice?
Back in the day–think Ancient Greece–you had to go to great lengths to become a leader
It was one in too many who broke through
Now they sell leadership certificates through common coursework by the dozen
Who wants to be a leader?
Just take a class.
One kick in too many asses
I’m not trying to gross anyone out
I’m just playing the imitation game
Decoding my own mind’s electrophysiological functions
I’m the laziest I’ve ever been
I won’t ever make it
This terminates the creative train of thought
Who strains backwards and forward for a schiff of wheat
I’m not learning anything
I am a dead end
Without being too dreary
The overcoming won’t come for me
I’m in the underclear
Narry a dander light on the horizon
Narry my mellow father mother son
Dandruff n shampoo
Dandruff n shampoo
I’m sorry guys! Time dilation! I realized the poem is too short–that it took longer to write it than it does to read it, and therefore it is not “in sync” with la musique. Apologies possible extension in the future.
Ring the unnecessary from it
Send the formant a song
I’m a robot
You are too
We are so alone
I have a jury out on the phone
They want me
Oh how badly do they want me
They want you too
We are lost souls
There’s no net benefit from this dynamite
There’s no exhaustive algorithm here
We must try again
With Atlas rolling joints
There’s no stand for my bust
But I’m busting you out
In the night
They’ll never catch me
The rabble-rousing Irish adventurer in me
Says No more!
Tonight we conquer the beast!
The danger lurks near…
Why can’t I go wrong?
The vendetta grows stark
There’s no grass in this lawn
I walk past
Animatic motions of my wrist
Say hi to the neighbor
The parallax of real life
No one seems to care about
What is this journey for?
What’s it up to?
What’s it plotting behind my back?
Over that bridge
Without first eating the grenade
And blowing your mind up from the inside out
I’m fighting for my life
I have a limitless supply of words
But no one to publish them
My hospitality is gross
Aye! I denounce
And candy was served
The president knows…
So we’d better gather our crab claws
And hustle on out of this space
To a new plane
A mesomorphic pretense in Italy
I have no home
No one does
We are all
New York full of oil
Cumulative weekly decomposition
Marred in fright the Twitter feed deposits me
Or on me?
A light layer of surfactant
In sheen form
Hum. Hum. Hum neighbors.
N o o n e q u i t e q u a l i f i e s
for this life
For this brigade
For his propaganda
I’m met with the resilience of constant discomfiture
What can I say
The banana’s on top
This has no meaning
I’m just a neighbor too